


Consolation

by feverbeats



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:19:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus returns to Nurmengard only once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolation

  
For the first year, Albus writes Gellert letters that arrive at Nurmengard by owl, written in ridiculously loopy handwriting on thin paper.

Perhaps they are intended to make him feel less alone, but Albus was always very bad at judging human emotion.

The prison was never meant to be a desolate place; it was simply somewhere to keep people while the resistance lasted. Now, however, with the wind howling around its jet black sides, it is more than imposing: it's incredibly depressing.

It is over thirty years before he sees Albus in person again, and by then, the letters have long since stopped.

*

Albus returns to Nurmengard only once. It is during the first war against Voldemort, and he only goes because he needs a reminder that Tom is not much like Gellert after all. Gellert's rule was even more terrible, because no one resisted. He was too charismatic, too charming, too goddamn _kind_.

Gellert has done a lot of growing up since then, though, although he is still petulant, refusing to stand when Albus enters his cell.

"Gellert," Albus says. Throwing Gellert's last name in his face as though they are strangers would be too low a blow, and useless besides.

Gellert simply glares at him, face worn and thin but still handsome, perhaps even more so than in his youth.

Albus forces himself to take a deep breath. "There is a man," he says. "A former student of mine. He is trying to do what you did, Gellert."

A hint of a smile plays over Gellert's face, and he stands. "Forgive me if I'm unimpressed."

Albus fights an irrational laugh. Defiance in the face of Voldemort's rule is one thing, but Gellert would easily say it to Voldemort himself with the same casual indifference. It's nice to be reminded that there are corners of the world still unshaken by the Death Eaters and their activities.

"Anyhow," Gellert says, his voice becoming less rough as he speaks, "He's English. I wouldn't expect too much trouble from some English boy."

Albus clicks his tongue. "Don't be ridiculous." He's allowing himself to slide into old habits, even the beginnings of banter, and that is dangerous. "Surely you must be missing England by now, locked up in here?"

"England was a paradise," Gellert says mournfully, leaning back against the stone wall. He pauses. "Aren't you going to apologize, Albus?"

"For what?" Albus says, but he knows.

"I'm alone. I've been alone."

Of all of Albus's great acts of cruelty, one of the greatest was leaving a person like Gellert alone here. He is a social animal who needs people around him all the time. "I apologize," he says stiffly. It's not worth the argument at this point, and they're only words. "But that does not mean I'm going to let you go." Much as he'd love Gellert's help in this war, much as he is beginning to believe that he _needs_ it . . .

"Good," Gellert says with finality. "I've done a lot of thinking in here, Albus, and I don't think you'd better let me go."

Perhaps being isolated here has been better for Gellert than Albus ever hoped, but that only makes the thought of walking away empty-handed even worse. "Thank you," he says, forcing himself to stick to his planned script.

"For what?" Gellert asks, eyes bright and shrewd.

"For consolation. On many matters." Albus turns to go, because if he stays any longer, he might—he doesn't like to think what might happen.

"Wait," Gellert says. "Aren't you even going to kiss your husband goodbye?"

A decades-old mistake is suddenly coming back and sticking in Albus's throat so he can't answer, can't say no or yes or even _you bastard_. Instead, he turns around, strides to Gellert, and presses a quick, rough kiss to his mouth.

Before Gellert can react, Albus turns on his heel and practically flees, but he can tell that Gellert is smiling, victorious.

*

Gellert rubs his fingers over his lips, trying to recapture the feeling. He hasn't touched another human being in decades, but that brief contact will have to be enough to sustain him.

Three days later, the letters begin again. Albus's handwriting is still the same, but this time the letters are brought by Phoenix. They're are full of Albus's thoughts and worries about the war, plans and plots that he will probably never reveal to anyone else. This seems more lonely, to Gellert, than a secluded tower in the middle of the ocean.

He goes to his window and looks out on the dark waves before allowing the thin pieces of paper to flutter out the window and out of sight.


End file.
